


put the lights out

by metafictionally



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metafictionally/pseuds/metafictionally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the exception of Yugyeom, Jackson is one of the only people for whom Youngjae is content to be a human pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	put the lights out

**Author's Note:**

> for Sivon

The night after the SBS festival, Jackson climbs into bed with Youngjae, who is writing in his journal in tiny letters and trying to ignore the insistent heat of his hyung's presence. But Jackson is hard to ignore, even when he isn't trying to be, and it takes only moments for Youngjae's resistance to wear thin. "Hi, hyung," he says, eyes focused on his journal even though his pencil isn't moving. Jackson's tank is too loose and his body too hot, Youngjae has always thought so, like a space heater tucked into Youngjae's sheets. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Jackson says. His head rests against Youngjae's stomach, still-damp hair tickling the half-inch of skin exposed below the hem of Youngjae's t-shirt. With the exception of Yugyeom, Jackson is one of the only people for whom Youngjae is content to be a human pillow. "What are you writing?"

"My journal." It makes Youngjae shy, a little, so he closes the cover, trapping his pen between the pages. When he first moved to Seoul, he wrote to his family almost every other day, but these days there's little time for that kind of thing. "Why?"

"Are you tired?"

He had been, a little, but Jackson's presence is electrifying. "No," Youngjae says, putting the cap back on his pen and setting both it and the journal to the side. It's only half a lie. "How could I be tired after tonight?"

It's a little past four in the morning. Jackson rolls over him, rests his cheek against Youngjae's thigh and looks up at him, across the length of Youngjae's body. Youngjae feels himself shiver and hopes that Jackson won't notice. "It could happen," Jackson says, "just checking," and his fingers are spread out against the outside of Youngjae's leg, fingertips just barely brushing over the hem of his boxers. Youngjae is suddenly keenly aware of how high they've ridden, how much of his skin is exposed, of exactly how warm Jackson's breath is when it ghosts over sensitive flesh. 

Youngjae swallows hard. "Not tired," he repeats. Jaebum is in another room, Jinyoung's, probably, and won't be back tonight, so what Youngjae means is, I'm yours. 

He knows what Jackson wants, even if Jackson doesn't have the right words to ask for it. He'd made a joke once, that they don't teach that kind of thing in language classes, and although Youngjae had known that Jackson was low-key asking Youngjae to teach him, the thing is that something about it is endearing, appealing. The way Jackson has to show what he can't ask for, sometimes. Jackson still gets tongue-tied, and Youngjae's weak in English and Cantonese alike, but there's certainty in the way Jackson touches him that makes Youngjae think it doesn't matter after all.

He lets Jackson's fingers trail along the hem of his boxers, along the sensitive backs of his thighs. A long time ago, Youngjae had learned how to control his facial reactions, but he'd never learned how to control his body, and it gives him away every time—how he shivers at the touch, his breath catching, how he's already starting to get hard and Jackson hasn't even touched him yet. 

There are still traces of eyeliner on Jackson's eyes when they flutter closed, his lips pressing soft kisses up from the inside of Youngjae's knee. This is a side of Jackson that Youngjae thinks himself privileged to see, not the loud, rambunctious hyung that so many have come to know and love, but the gentler, sweeter hyung who treats Youngjae like he's precious, but not fragile, not breakable but still deserving of care. 

Still, Youngjae has some sense. "We shouldn't—" he begins, fingers tugging at the edges of his boxers, although his resolve wavers when Jackson looks up at him again. "We have practice tomorrow. Rehearsals. We should—"

Jackson nips at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and Youngjae bites down on a sharp inhalation. "It's okay," he says. "I have an idea." Soothes the sting with his tongue and then adds, "Trust me?"

As if there's a question.

He takes his time ridding Youngjae of his clothes, like it's not four-thirty in the morning, like this isn't call time for them some days. Youngjae supposes they can afford it, because they won't start practices tomorrow until the afternoon and mornings are best for sleeping, but he's impatient. Not in personality, but made that way by the insistent surety of Jackson's hands against his skin, removing his shirt, tugging his boxers down his thighs. "You're enjoying this too much," Youngjae grumbles, in the heaviest satoori he can manage, just to be a brat, and Jackson repays him by sucking on two of Youngjae's fingers and saying something unintelligible, but probably filthy, in Cantonese. Grins around Youngjae's fingers like he's unconcerned, like he hasn't even noticed that Youngjae is hard already, leaking precome against his lower stomach as he waits for Jackson to put this idea into motion.

"I love your thighs," Jackson finally says, settling between them for a moment. At least he's naked now, too, so Youngjae can drag his gaze heavy down the length of Jackson's body, drinking in the lines and curves of him. Speaking of thighs. "I could live here," and then in English, "for real," and Jackson leans down to suck a mark there, possessive. It makes Youngjae tremble.

"Hyung," he says, fingers twisting in the sheets. "Hyung—"

Jackson hums and pulls back, laughing, but there's an edge to it that makes Youngjae's whole body ring like a bell. "Okay, yeah," he agrees, rolling Youngjae onto his side and then pressing up behind him like the big spoon. "Like this."

It isn't until Jackson rolls his hips forward that Youngjae gets it. His cock slides between Youngjae's upper thighs, the tip nudging just behind Youngjae's balls, and it's so good, it's so good that Youngjae has to muffle a groan against the inside of his own upper arm, his hips pressing back against Jackson's. "Okay, okay," he half-gasps, hating and loving how easy he is for Jackson to unravel. "Like this, okay--"

So Jackson fucks him like that. Doesn't fuck him, actually, but there's something delicious about it anyway, something that has Youngjae's head spinning every time Jackson rolls his hips forward. Jackson's hand presses against his hip, his lower stomach, holds him there so he can't squirm, and Jackson—the jerk, he mumbles in Youngjae's ear in English and Cantonese and everything in between, and Youngjae can't understand most of it but he hears enough "fuck" and "good" to know that it's probably better that he doesn't. 

By the time Jackson's hand curls around his erection, Youngjae is all but gasping for it, flushed and sweaty and sensitive all over, his entire body tuned to Jackson's touch. It shakes him to the core, caught for one paralyzing moment between the desire to thrust into that touch and the desire to roll his hips back.

In the end he does neither, just bites back a groan of Jackson's name and comes in a rush, only moments before Jackson does the same, spilling hot all over Youngjae's thighs as Youngjae covers Jackson's hand. It's filthy, they'll be sticky in moments, but Youngjae's pretty sure that it's the best orgasm he's had all month, at least. Maybe longer than a month. Maybe he needs to stop thinking, because Jackson is mouthing kisses along his spine and panting nonsense against his neck, and Youngjae's more than pretty sure he wouldn't want to miss that for the world.

"Okay," Youngjae says later, when they're cleaned off and curled up and Jackson's head is on his stomach again, only now they're both sated and Youngjae is allowed to finish writing in his journal without any interruptions. "That was a pretty good idea."

"I only have good ideas," Jackson says, and yawns around a grin.


End file.
